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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441771">Father and Daughter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyellow/pseuds/mrsyellow'>mrsyellow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parenthood, Work In Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:02:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyellow/pseuds/mrsyellow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg comes home from work to an eerily quiet and empty house. What has happened to his wife and child? </p><p>Work in progress! Summary, tags and warnings will change.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Greg Lestrade/Greg Lestrade's Wife, Mycroft Holmes &amp; Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always, named after a song. Father and Daughter is a great song by Paul Simon, look it up :) </p><p>I have no idea where this story is going, so we'll just have to wait and see...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He was humming to himself on his walk from the tube, feeling relieved about finally being able to get out from work at a reasonable time. It was drizzling, but the walk was short and he was used to the rain by now, London had not seen sunshine for over a week. When he reached the driveway, the old man living next door was standing outside on his porch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hiya Greg, everything alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks, Mr Wright. And yourself?” Greg had to suppress rolling his eyes, for the man was infamous among the neighbours for his endless talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As well as one could expect at this age, I guess. Now, have you read the newspaper today? There was an interesting article about…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg hummed and nodded in what he thought was the right places, while staring at his lawn and debating whether or not it would be worth it to splurge on a new lawnmower. Linda was still on maternity leave, so money had been tight for a while, but Sophie was turning one in just a few weeks time and then they would be back to two incomes again. He was halfway through a mental shopping list over garden tools, when Mr Wright cleared his throat pointedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Mr Wright, it’s been a long day. I better go inside and see what the wife is up to,” he said with a polite smile and hurried towards the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come say hi to dada, Sophie!” he said while removing his coat and shaking the rain out of his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no reply. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Are they napping this late in the afternoon? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought and went upstairs to check the bedrooms. They were empty, but unusually well cleaned which was a pleasant surprise. Even Sophie’s little cot had been properly made with fresh sheets and her beloved teddy bear sitting on top of the duvet. He smiled at the image it conjured in his mind, Sophie stretching her arms towards him in the morning, light brown curls bouncing around her little face, saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>dada, dada! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A quick scroll through the messages on his phone gave him no clue as to where they had gone, so he made his way back downstairs to the kitchen and figured he could sit down with a cold beer before starting up dinner. Linda had probably gone out to run some errands, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t she talking about the dry cleaner the other day? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When the grandfather clock in the sitting room struck seven, and he still hadn't heard from her, he started to wonder. He knew how annoyed Linda got when he worried over nothing, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> unusual that she hadn’t told him anything about where she was, or replied to his texts. And Sophie was well overdue an evening meal and a bath by now, so while hunching over a bowl of soup at the kitchen table, he picked up his phone and pulled up Linda’s number from the list over most recent calls. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hi, you’ve reached Linda Lestrade’s phone. I can’t pick up the phone right now, but please leave a message or send a text and I’ll get back to you! Bye!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No luck there then. He called another number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Molls, how are you? Oh, okay, I just had a quick question. Have you talked to Linda today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked out the window while listening to the woman’s reply. It had stopped raining, and if he squinted, he could see a slice of sky in between the many dark clouds, coloured red by the sunset. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No? It’s fine, just wanted to check. No, it’s probably nothing, I figure she went out for an errand or something and maybe her phone battery died, I don’t know. She’ll be alright though. Yeah, I’ll let you know. Say hi to Lucas from me,” he said and finished the call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another hour later, he was really starting to feel uneasy about the whole thing. It was nearly eight o’clock, and considering how uptight Linda always was about Sophie’s routines, he was certain there was something strange going on. He picked up his phone again, scrolling past all the ignored texts and calls to his wife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Sally,” he said when the call went through. “Busy night? Just wait until the pubs close tonight and you’ll get your hands full. Uh, yeah, actually I did need something… Linda and Sophie weren’t around when I got home today, and they still haven’t returned. No answers on the phone or anything, no… Yeah, I figured that too. Maybe that’s a good place to start?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a knock on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on a second Sally, someone’s at the door.” He lifted the phone from his ear and walked out in the hallway. There was another insistent knock before he got there, and he rolled his eyes, preparing himself for a visit from Mr Wilkins or perhaps a rude salesman who didn’t have the sense to leave people alone at this time of night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he saw on the doorstep was neither of those things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed and dropped his phone. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I can't promise when I'll update this again, or any other of my fics, because life is insanely busy right now. But don't be sad, one day it'll be a complete story, I just can't say when that day is xD </p><p>Police work is probably not at all done in the way I've described in this chapter, but it's fiction so I can do what I want ;) </p><p>Happy reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Outside the door stood a burly, bearded police officer that he vaguely recognized from the traffic division at work. Slightly behind him was an equally serious-looking lady, clad in a black pencil skirt and blazer, and further down the doorstep stood a younger police officer. In his arms he was carrying a bunched up brown hospital blanket, “Property of St Bartholomew’s Hospital” printed all over it. Through the folds and creases of the fabric, a dark curl of hair was barely visible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sophie!” Greg choked out, practically shoving the visitors out of the way to pull the sleeping baby from her carer’s arms. “What’s happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Lestrade, could we come inside, please?” Ms Pencil-Skirt said. He narrowed his eyes at her, and cradled Sophie tighter in his arms, instantly recognizing her words and tone. He had heard it, and used it, countless times - when someone’s husband had been murdered in a robbery gone wrong, or when someone’s son had been stabbed to death in a pub brawl and he or a colleague had to break the news to the poor bastard’s family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He stared at her. She gave a tight smile and put a well-manicured hand on his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand this is hard for you. Let’s move inside, shall we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without waiting for his reply, she went through the door and he had no choice but to follow her inside to the sitting room, flanked by the two police officers. His whole body had gone cold, and his hands shook when he carefully unwrapped Sophie from the blanket. She whimpered a little in her sleep, but apart from a rather large band-aid on her forehead she seemed unharmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These pyjamas have ducks on them,” he said to the police man who stood next to him, an arm outstretched as if he was preparing to catch Sophie if Greg dropped her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They do, sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Linda hates ducks. She’s afraid of them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. That’s a common fear, I’m sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg said nothing. He let himself be guided to sit on the sofa, still cradling the sleeping child in his arms, and closed his eyes. He knew he should ask about Linda, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman cleared her throat, apparently unsure on how to continue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Lestrade, there is no gentle way to tell you this, so I’ll just go ahead and say it. This afternoon, there was a traffic accident on M4. Sophie, as you can see, was almost completely unharmed, but unfortunately your wife, Linda, wasn’t as lucky.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Shut up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. She was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She continued talking, but Greg heard nothing. The sounds inside his own head seemed louder instead, he heard his pulse throbbing in his ears and the gritting of his teeth. He felt cold all over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is not happening. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone was nudging him. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anyone we can call for you?” the police officer said, going for a caring look but ending up looking mostly constipated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone to call?” he repeated weakly. “Uh… Maybe John?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, we’ll call John. May I borrow your phone to place the call?” Ms Pencil-Skirt obviously couldn't help but to be efficient even in situations like this </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” He patted down his pockets but came up empty. “It’s on the floor in the hallway…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” one of the officers said, apparently eager to get something practical to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg put in his passcode on the phone, handed it over and promptly stopped listening to anything else that was being said. He stroked Sophie’s face, his thumb tracing a line from the tip of her nose to the end of her left eyebrow, letting the feeling of her soft, warm skin ground him. She had been a miniature version of Linda when she was first born, but the older she became, the more she resembled Greg, and now, when she furrowed her brow at his touch, she looked remarkably alike him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t say how long he had been sitting there, but a firm hand on his shoulder made him look up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey mate,” a familiar voice said. John came around the sofa to crouch down in front of him, his eyes kind but concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These people are telling me that Linda — they’re saying that she —” He couldn’t say it. The words refused to form in his mouth, that was now filling with the metallic taste of blood instead. He slowly withdrew his teeth from his bottom lip, instinctively licking the wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, mate, I heard. I’m so sorry,” the doctor replied, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “Can I send these officers home, and maybe they can come back tomorrow with some information for us?” he continued after a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Greg replied. He wouldn't know what to ask them anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He vaguely noticed John talking to the officers in hushed tones, and didn't look up again until John came back to carefully remove Sophie from his arms, putting her down in the stroller next to the sofa instead. A hot cup of tea was then pressed into his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Drink this," John said and sat himself down next to Greg. "Are you hungry?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. I made soup," he replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good, that's good. I know this is a lot to process, so I'm just gonna sit right here next to you, and anything you need, you just tell me. Alright?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright." He stared down at the tea in his hands. It would be a long night. </span>
</p>
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